Quality of Life
by The Black Sluggard
Summary: Many argue that science has failed to answer too many questions about the condition, however, and there are still those who refuse to believe that its unknown cause is anything natural... AU. Slash, Ryan/Esposito. Contains disturbing imagery.


The voices in the hall were barely audible. Javier knew he shouldn't have been able to hear them at all. Not through a door, or over the sounds of the machines humming and clicking nearby. He was only post-vital three days and already he had an expanding awareness of the building around him, mapped out by the footsteps of nurses and security moving through the hospital. He had still been unconscious when they'd moved him to this wing, and he hadn't left the room since he'd first awoken. Still, he thought he could find the elevator just fine if he had to. He hated the reminder of what was happening to him, the slow sharpening of his senses, like the dials were being turned up. Most of the time he tried to ignore it, let the voices and footsteps fade into the background behind the whirring machinery and buzzing fluorescence.

This time, though, it was his partner's voice. He couldn't have ignored it if he'd wanted to.

"Wait, Jenny, what do you mean we're not going to move back the wedding?" Kevin sounded genuinely confused, though his voice was a little wary, as though he suspected an answer he was hoping not to hear.

"I mean exactly what those words mean, Kevin," Jenny answered, her tone sharp, "Don't argue with me."

"But...we can't." Kevin argued firmly. "Javier's not going to be able to leave this place for at least a month. He's the best man, Jenn, we can't do it without him."

Javier heard their footsteps come to a halt. In the brief silence he could imagine how the tension between them might be rendered.

"Kevin..." She spoke cautiously, but she couldn't keep an faint, offended note from creeping into her tone. "He's not coming to the wedding."

"What?" Kevin sounded stunned. "Why?"

"You _know_ why, Kevin. I can't—" He couldn't hear the breath she took to compose herself, but from the fear threaded into her voice, he could imagine it. "Please. _Please_ don't make me."

When Kevin said nothing, she spoke up again.

"You come to visit him. Isn't that enough?"

"Enough? How could that be _enough_?" Javier could hear the edge of anger creeping into his partner's voice. "He's my best friend, Jenny. We can't just shut him out because of this."

"No, he's not." Jenny's voice was softer, full of sympathy. Javier couldn't help but feel a little sick from it. "Kevin, I know you feel bad for him, for what he's going through, but you have to know that's not _him_ in there anymore."

Javier felt a twist in his gut. Not for the first time since this messed up ordeal began, he found himself wishing he had gambled harder. Even if the odds had been stacked firmly against him, death might have been preferable to this...

* * *

><p><em>The official scientific term for the disease is "idiopathic haemolytic necrosis with complex cardiovascular atrophy", commonly abbreviated as IHN. The root cause of the disease is still unknown, all attempts to detect a contagion or contaminant to explain its spread have left scientists baffled. The five decades since the first outbreaks in the United States and Central America have seen the development of several theories. Most of the medical community maintains the culprit is likely to be an as yet unidentified pathogen or parasite, harbored in the blood of those affected. Unable to detect a method of transmission, they can only observe it by effect. <em>

_The infection spreads through the body very rapidly, altering the host in ways experts speculate help maximize its spread. These alterations occur throughout the body, though the tissues most chiefly altered are, by all appearances, the blood, bone marrow, and nerve tissues. The former are quickly destroyed by the disease, leaving the victim anemic and unable to replace lost blood cells. Those infected rarely live more than a week before suffering heart-failure. The effects of the disease on the nervous system are little understood, but it is believed by many to be the key which will some day reveal the means by which the majority of victims somehow manage to continue living for an indefinite period **after** their hearts have stopped._

_The condition is transmissible only in the first month to two months after infection. As post-vital patients display an impressive resistance to other diseases, it is suspected that after this initial "onset-stage" the body becomes a hostile environment to the IHN contagion itself. Others theorize it merely enters a state of dormancy. Toward the end of this period the aberrant behaviors which manifest early in the onset-stage of the disease commonly decrease. After this time has passed, patients normally stabilize, though they are left irreversibly changed, caught in a state somewhere between "dead" and "alive" as the words were historically defined._

_Many argue that science has failed to answer too many questions about the condition, however, and there are still those who refuse to believe that its unknown cause is anything natural..._

_ **(From http: / www. ihnfacts. org/ faqs/ introduction. html)** _

* * *

><p><em>During the initial outbreak the disease failed to respond to the antibiotics and antiviral medications available at the time. Fortunately, a few varieties of silver-based antiseptics normally used to treat burns proved to be surprisingly effective. The suggested course for suspected IHN exposure was quickly developed, beginning with the application of silver sulfadizine at the site of the wound, followed by a dose of colloidal silver administered through a nebulizer as a prophylactic precaution. Blood tests over the following two days were the only way to detect the swiftly dropping cell count that is the earliest measurable sign of the disease. Patients believed to have been infected with IHN were then prescribed a course of oral or inhaled colloidal silver that would continue to be taken for several months. <em>

_If caught within the first four days of infection, this treatment proved to be about 96% effective. _

_This treatment is now considered routine, and is often taken voluntarily by patients showing no signs of a diminishing blood count. In most of the developed world, the number of IHN cases have dropped significantly over the past twenty years. Nowadays, most hospitals are also equipped to house onset-stage IHN patients for whom treatment has proved ineffective or who failed to seek treatment in time. As a result, the rates of exposure have dropped as well. Though there are individuals subject to a heightened risk of exposure, IHN is no longer a threat the average person need worry about._

_**(From "A 2010 report on rates of IHN exposure and infection in North America")**  
><em>

* * *

><p>Javier had been exposed to IHN five times over the course of his career: three times when he was still a beat cop, and twice after he made detective. Ask anyone in the NYPD and they'd tell you that wasn't even that many. Especially the older officers who had served in the '70s and '80s when rates of exposure had been much higher. Some of them you could pick out of a crowd. Back then, the silver-content of the treatments was often unregulated, and repeated or preventative administration of anti-IHN treatments had often resulted in argyria. Predictably, many jokingly called them "the thin <em>bluer<em> line", a nickname some of them bore with pride.

The first time, Javier had been scared to out of his mind. The second time he'd still been nervous. By the third, however, it hadn't felt like a big deal—he had been shot on duty only months before, and by comparison sitting around puffing mist through a tube wasn't even close to being that scary.

He hadn't worried about it that fifth time, either. After he and Ryan had finished tangling with their suspect, he'd let the paramedics apply the SSD dressing to the bite on his arm. He'd declined their offer to take him to the hospital, however, opting to drive himself after they got their scumbag booked. The guy had broken the skin, sure, and it was already starting to bruise, but it wasn't like he'd need stitches. He knew he was going to wind up waiting in the ER for hours, first to be processed and then to have the treatment set up, and then probably spend the rest of another hour breathing through a hose. Everything was fine. Everything was cool. He had time. The treatment could wait, but post-vital perps always meant more paperwork and he'd rather have that done sooner than later.

As far as that scenario went, he hadn't been wrong. Everything _had_ been fine until the treatment began.

When Javier had first woken up in the hospital bed, he hadn't remembered how he'd gotten there. The doctors had needed to remind him of the case, of his injury and the suspected exposure he had come to have treated. That was when the nervousness had begun to return. They told him that he'd suffered severe respiratory distress in response to the nebulizer treatment. After they'd gotten him stabilized, a simple skin test had diagnosed the cause: a severe, atypical allergy to silver, probably acquired in response to past treatments. The situation was impressively rare, but not unheard of. They had informed him that he had been unconscious for two days, and that blood tests were beginning to show a definite decrease in his red cell count.

Now, they were nearing the end of the window in which the treatments would still be effective, and he had to make a choice.

If they made a second attempt to administer the treatment, there was a high probability he would suffer respiratory failure. And that was just the first dose. The usual course for IHN treatment suggested daily doses for at least four months. While there was a possibility that antihistamines or immune-suppressive medications might improve his chances, due to the severity of his reaction and risk of secondary infection they estimated his odds of survival at less than 40%. Even if he beat those odds, the damage to his lungs would almost surely put an end to his career. Whereas, if they allowed the infection to proceed, his chances were closer to 80% that he would survive.

If you wanted to call it that.

He'd called his mother that night. Explaining the situation had been difficult, but it had to be done—though he kept the choice to himself, afraid she might ask him to change his mind. They'd wound up talking for over an hour. As she promised to break the news to his sister and her husband, it had sounded like she was already mourning him. The conversation with his sister when she called a little later had followed the same basic formula.

Knowing what was going to happen to him, the last thing Javier had expected was that anyone would want to come see him. So he was understandably surprised when, the following morning, his first visitor wasn't his mother or his sister, but his partner Kevin Ryan. When the nurse led him in, Javier had been thrown by how distressed his partner had looked. Not that he'd expected proud stoicism, not from Ryan, but it had surprised him to see the pain lying so close to the surface. Kevin had looked uncomfortable standing there, and Javier could tell he wasn't sure whether he should say something. Though, really, what was there that could be said?

"So yeah," Javier had finally said, helping him out. He had muted the TV he hadn't really been watching, but didn't look at his partner as he spoke. "I'm dying. Sucks."

"Hey, there's still a chance, though," Kevin had said, his tone almost making a question. Looking up, Javier had seen his eyes ridiculously hopeful.

"Yeah." He'd answered, looking away.

A chance at _what_, though, he hadn't wanted to think about.

Kevin had dragged a chair from beside the wall to the side of his bed.

"I think there's a game on right now." Kevin had told him, casually.

Javier had cast an uncertain glance at his partner. Kevin hadn't seemed to notice. Taking the hint, he had changed the channel. Apart from a few idle comments about the game, there hadn't been any conversation after that. Javier remembered thinking maybe that was for the best. Still, while it had been impossible to keep his mind on the scores or the plays, for a few hours he hadn't felt the fear as sharply.

* * *

><p><em>In the United States and Canada, IHN survivors no longer lack for any rights under the law, though there are groups still challenging the progress that has been made. In particular, there has always been a vocal contingent who argue that when the heart stops, <strong>life<strong> stops. Fortunately in the US, since the early '70s, a person cannot be declared dead while there is still measurable brain activity. As post-vital brain activity is the only discernible distinction between a IHN survivor and an IHN **fatality**, by definition the word "alive" applies to them in a strictly legal sense. There is nothing preventing them from owning property, holding a job, or voting, so long as they are ruled mentally competent._

_However, while theoretically the standards for competence are more or less the same standards applied to anyone else, post-onset evaluations commonly stress certain points that are considered to be of particular concern..._

** _(From Dead Voices: IHN and the Civil Rights Movementby Mark R. Rowland; 1999)_ **

* * *

><p>There were moments when he thought he'd made the wrong decision. Most of them, if he was completely honest.<p>

Physically, the fever had been the worst part, burning so hot and intense he'd wondered if he might die anyway, when he wasn't _shivering_ so hard he thought his bones would break. It had lasted for three days, the last two of which were spent only half-lucid. After that had cooled off, it had been easier to endure. By the fourth day, he had experienced all the wonderful flu-like flavors—headaches, joint aches, nausea—but by the sixth day, even that had been starting to fall away. More than anything, after that, he had just felt tired. And even as he had continued to grow weaker, the doctors had assured him that the worst had passed.

_Physically_. The shit going on in his head had been a whole other mess entirely.

They had wanted him to pay close attention to any emotional changes. Anger, they had said, was normal under the circumstances, but that he should report any other "unusual or alarming thoughts". Javier wasn't stupid, he knew what they were talking about. Though, if asked, he would have been hard pressed to decide whether he would have preferred they just say it outright. And when they had explained, as soon as the fever had broken, that the restraints were simply hospital policy, he had tried not to be a dick about it. He understood the need, but that didn't make it any less humiliating.

Or the reasons any less terrifying.

* * *

><p><em>Blood is the preferred vector for the hypothetical pathogen behind IHN. All recorded cases follow some form of blood-to-blood contact, normally through a bite. One of the earliest onset-stage behaviors to manifest is usually some variety of self-injury, and in the vast majority of cases this takes the form of cheilophagia: compulsive biting of the lips and tongue. Many scientists believe that the wounds caused by these behaviors increase the chances of spreading the infection. <em>

_Normally within a day, this development is followed by the more extreme behaviors for which IHN is notorious._

_ **(From http: / www. ihnfacts. org/ faqs/ onset. html)** _

* * *

><p>Kevin had visited him several times over the following week, though a few of those visits had been eaten up by the delirium of his fever. And afterward Ryan had kicked up more of a fuss about the restraints than <em>he<em> had. It had taken one nurse's threat to ban him from the floor to make Kevin back down. Javier had a feeling his partner was in denial that they were necessary. He understood that. He'd had plenty of time for denial himself. Because it was impossible to imagine that he could ever... That he would ever be... Sometimes it was difficult to even _think _it, and part of him had been convinced it just wouldn't happen. Not to _him_.

But on day five it _had_, and there were no words to describe the sick horror he'd felt at himself.

He had been experiencing the minor behavioral signs of onset-stage ever since he'd broken from his fever two days earlier. So far he had managed to catch himself each time, lip sucked in between teeth that worried it gently. So far, he had managed to stop himself short of breaking the skin. It was getting harder to do. There was something almost soothing about it, the scrape of flesh against his teeth, and sometimes he'd find himself running the tip of his tongue along the ridges of his molars with enough pressure that it hurt. The nurse had offered a mouth-guard if he thought he needed it, but with his arms tied he would have had to have the nurse put it in, and he wasn't about to gag himself if he didn't have to.

It was late afternoon. Ryan had just left when the nurse returned to do her hourly check. Part of that was checking his restraints. Her fingertips had felt white-hot against his skin, and he was unable to hold in a gasp. He had known that his body temperature had been dropping gradually ever since the fever broke; it was currently hovering around 88.3. Still, he had found himself staring at her fingers, wondering how they could possibly hold that kind of heat. His eyes had roamed, almost on their own. The nurse was very fair skinned—fair enough that the veins stood out a faint blue through the skin of her wrists, and Javier had found his gaze climbing upward, following until they disappeared beneath the surface of the soft-looking skin below the elbow.

Blood mixed with saliva in his mouth before Javier even realized his incisors had met through his lower lip.

As the pain registered itself, Javier had recoiled violently from his thoughts, dragging his eyes away. He'd had to take deep, slow breaths to push down the nausea that threatened to overcome him. The nurse had noticed his distress and begun asking him something, but the words had disappeared behind the ringing in his ears. Right then he had wanted more than anything to be alone. He couldn't stand the thought of her looking at him—of having _anyone _look at him—but his mind was too messed up just then to even think of trying to speak. Eyes squeezed shut, he had turned away as far as he could.

Though he never did manage to ask her to leave, she had eventually gotten the message, leaving the room as his panicked breathing dissolved into ragged, uncontrollable sobs.

After that, he had asked the nurses to let Ryan know that he didn't want his visits anymore. Either they'd failed to deliver it, or his partner was determined to be difficult, because the next morning he'd come anyway. If he had been told, and if Kevin suspected the reason behind the message, he never showed it. He never asked Javier about his lip, either. He had just come in, wearing that same stupid, hateful look of hope on his face. He'd talked about things at the station, and how Castle was driving Beckett up the wall, and that everyone at the 12th was praying for him.

Javier had never felt less deserving of prayer in his life, but somehow it just hadn't been in him to ask Kevin to leave, not once he was _there_. So Javier had listened, though he hadn't had much to say. In fact, beyond a few short responses he hadn't said anything. Not about the doctor's projections and how he really didn't have a lot of time left. Not about the thin, sharp pains he'd begun feeling in his chest. And definitely not about the twisted thoughts that had begun to haunt his mind... Like what it would feel like to draw his partner's tie loose, open the collar of his shirt and bury his teeth in the pale flesh of his throat.

He had ground his teeth against those words, those thoughts, until his jaw ached. Ground them until all that was left was the optimistic smile that he knew Kevin needed to see.

His mother had visited more than once during the beginning of his illness, but she only came once after he had pulled through the fever. That last visit had been short and difficult, the presence of the straps anchoring his arms to the bed a source of pain left unacknowledged between them. Having her see him like that—tied down like a dangerous animal—had been painful, but it was nothing next to the thought of what it implied. The idea of her thinking of him in the context of all the things she must have heard... He didn't know how to handle that.

When the onset behaviors started, he had called her, asking her not to come. He'd heard hesitation over the line, and for a moment he thought she might argue. If she had, he didn't think he would have had the strength to beg. Her voice had been thick when she finally agreed, and he could tell she was crying. It had gutted him, and for a few seconds he had wanted to change his mind. He couldn't, though, he just _couldn't_, not after Ryan's visit. The nurse had been bad enough, but _that_— No. He couldn't see his family now. If he did, and he started thinking those things about them...

He knew he would _never_ be able to handle that.

* * *

><p>Javier's heart gave out on the eighth day.<p>

Or possibly the night of the seventh day, it was difficult to tell. If asked, most people would say they'd prefer to die in their sleep. If given a second chance, Javier thought he would have asked for almost anything _else_, because when it happened he had almost failed to noticed. Not that he hadn't felt something was wrong, he simply hadn't known what it was. He hated to think of how long he might have gone on not knowing if he hadn't realized that the the EKG had been turned off while he slept. Everything was almost as it had been yesterday, the other devices doing the jobs they were meant to, only now one humming machine was silent, still. Tears had stung his eyes once he'd processed what that meant.

_Post-vital_, the word rang uneasily in his mind. Painfully, it was echoed by the older, crueler term. _Undead_.

It was difficult getting used to the stillness inside—to accept the idea that what had once made him _alive_ was now just a useless chunk of meat in his chest. It felt so final, so definite. As though the last thread anchoring him to his old life had suddenly been severed.

Well. Every thread but one.

When Kevin arrived it hadn't taken him long to make the same deduction about the EKG that Javier had. He never mentioned it, but Javier had seen the exact moment, Kevin's sudden blink of surprise. Their conversation had been sparse that day, their interactions awkward, and the visit had ended much sooner than the others before it.

That afternoon, as he'd watched his partner leave, Javier though he could imagine what dying might have felt like.

* * *

><p>He hadn't been sure Kevin would return after that. Two days later, however, Ryan had shown up, only to stop in the hallway to argue with his fiance.<p>

"You're out of line, Jenn," Kevin was saying now, voice tight with unvoiced anger. "That was _so_ out of line. I don't even—"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, Kevin Ryan." Jenny told him, hotly, "Don't pretend you haven't been reading everything you could find on this..._disease_ ever since it started. You know what it does to them. You know what it's doing to _him_. To his head. How can you know that and still believe that thing in there is Javier?"

Knowing Ryan as he did, he had suspected that his partner knew more about what was happening than he let on. Javier didn't think her question would have stung him anywhere near as much if he hadn't occasionally wondered the same thing himself. Kevin didn't answer that question for either one of them, however, choosing instead to ask one of his own.

"And if it was _me_, Jenny?" He asked her, voice dropping low. "What if this had happened to me, would you have just dumped my ass and moved on?"

There was a short silence before Kevin pushed on.

"You know what, don't answer that. Here. Take the keys. I'll grab a taxi, later, I just— I can't even _look_ at you right now."

After a moment, Javier heard her footsteps disappearing down the hall. Ryan loitered in the hallway, and for a minute Javier didn't know if he was hesitating or just letting himself cool off. Apparently it was the latter, because soon the footsteps continued their approach. When Kevin entered he wore the same smile he had every time before, though Javier thought it seemed a little less desperate than it used to. Despite the awkwardness of his last visit, that make a twisted kind of sense. Paradoxically, once Javier's heart had stopped he was out of the woods—at least as far as "survival" was concerned.

Now it was just a matter of getting through the next two months of hospitalization with his mind intact.

* * *

><p><em>After the initial drop in cell count the first noticeable symptom of IHN is hyperpyrexia, an extremely high fever that has been recorded reaching temperatures as high as 109 degrees. Studies indicate that patients whose fevers are allowed to progress untreated display higher rates of survival than those whose fever's are reduced. They also tend to have a higher rate of successful recovery from onset behaviors and better overall quality of life. This seems to support the belief that the febrile phase of the illness is tied to whatever changes occur in the brain that allow post-vital life to continue.<em>

_It is after this phase of the disease ends that the characteristic symptoms and behaviors first begin to develop. These can vary greatly from individual to individual, though many appear to be universal. Self-harm, while not always presented, is still common enough to bear mention, as when it does manifest is it almost always the first sign to appear. Intrusive violent thoughts and increased aggression are always seen, and their inevitable, rapid escalation require measures be taken to prevent the patient from harming themselves or others. Patients who are post-vital all display a measurable increase in the acuity of all five senses, as well as sharing similar changes in regards to appetite. Many also report a decreased desire or need for sleep. _

_Delirium, paranoia, mania, delusions, and hallucinations have all been observed in patients entering the difficult middle phase of onset-stage IHN. Individuals who are restrained may be more easily enraged than those who are simply kept isolated from others, but while many advocates argue that restraint is cruel, most doctors, nurses, and even many patients maintain its necessity during both onset and recovery._

_Invariably all of these behaviors, both common and idiosyncratic, share the same central focus in every recorded instance of the disease: the development in effected individuals of an abnormal impulse mimicking the prey drive observed naturally in most predators. Understandably, in a survey of IHN survivors, 97% considered the at times overwhelming urge to attack and devour those around them the single most distressing element of their condition. _

_ **(From An Introduction to Post-Vital Medicine, 2009 edition)** _

* * *

><p>Though Ryan never mentioned the fight with Jenny it became sort of a mental landmark for Javier, because things intensified swiftly after that.<p>

More than once he tried to convince Kevin to stop coming, but his partner wouldn't hear it, even after Javier told him that he'd asked his family not to visit either. Perhaps predictably, that revelation had only made him more stubborn. He always came, always talked about what Javier was missing out there—what was _waiting _for him, once he got out—even if half the time he knew Javier wasn't listening. He wasn't ungrateful, but as the second week slid past, the thoughts became harder and harder to push away. Often Javier lost track of their conversations completely, forced to shut his eyes and try his best to drown out the images plaguing him. Gradually, the thoughts began to evolve into impulses, and Javier spent most of their time together with fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached for hours after Kevin had left. When his control was the thinnest, Javier often wound up yelling at him. Sometimes it was intentional; if he was going to lose it he preferred to have his best friend leave pissed at him than see him at his worst.

_Worst_. Looking back, Javier could almost laugh that he'd ever thought those moments the lowest he could possibly sink.

By the middle of the third week, Javier's forearms were raw where the restraints chafed against his skin. It had long since passed the point where the impulses could be ignored. Whenever someone entered the room, now, there was this fight or flight moment that demanded reaction. So far that reaction was to try and escape them, despite the impossibility the restraints presented. Normally the nurses and doctors simply went about their routine, despite his useless struggles and the embarrassing, terrified sounds he made. When it was Kevin, sometimes he could still manage to calm down for a few moments, though often Javier wasted them apologizing for himself.

Eventually it became difficult for him to keep track of how much time was passing. Sometimes he thought that was a blessing.

He thought it was about that same time that he first lost his grip on everything he'd been holding onto. He remembered the sharp _click _his teeth had made closing on empty air far more vividly than the act itself, and it took him a few seconds to process that he'd tried to take a bite out of the nurse who was tending the seeping wounds on his lips. The idea that he'd snapped at the man like an injured dog produced a bubble of sick laughter before he subsided for a while into a shaken depression.

It was toward the end of his first month, maybe, that things started getting fuzzy around the edges.

He had good days, days when he was almost half-sane. On one of these, he'd asked one of the nurses for the date. Realizing that the day of Ryan's wedding had passed, Javier had felt something bitter twist inside him. On Kevin's next visit—for while they'd grown shorter as Javier lost more of himself, the man had never ceased coming entirely—Javier had offered caustic congratulations to his _ex_-partner. He'd been almost proud to do so, as it was possibly the tidiest thought process he'd managed to string together in days. He'd been unable to take much satisfaction in Kevin's stricken look, however. And, as the guilt he felt was quickly consumed by his ever present rage, he'd bitten in on the middle of Kevin's protest.

"Shut up, Kev," Javier had growled out to the man who had been his best friend, "Shut the fuck up and _leave_. If I see you again I swear to God I'll open your throat with my teeth."

He didn't always sleep, but that night he did. He even managed to dream. He dreamt sick, guilty dreams about his partner's horrified face, and how Jenny's long blonde hair would be the most perfect handhold to keep her still as he tore the flesh from her pretty cheek.

* * *

><p>Most of the next month was a blur of sick hunger and bloody thoughts. Kevin's face, that final expression of hurt and shock, haunted him through most of it.<p>

The waking dreams were an atypical development in his case. If he'd been anywhere near lucid by then, he probably would have thought that was unfair. As it was his real life, delusions, and dreams—waking or otherwise—were all so interchangeably horrific it almost failed to matter. Almost. Most of the time he could tell he'd been dreaming once it was over, but often he couldn't. Not right away. They were incredibly intense, and often preyed on his current circumstances, further loosening his grasp of reality. More than once, he dreamed he'd managed to slip his restraints. With the doctors or nurses there was always their eventual reappearance to assure him that the events _were_ only dreams. Sometimes, though, in the dreams, Kevin was there. In one incredibly brutal scenario, the memory of his partner's blood on his hands and in his throat had been so vivid that for the better part of a day Javier had genuinely believed he'd killed him.

It had taken several hours for the nurses to convince him otherwise, offering the bitter reassurance that Ryan hadn't been in to see him in almost a week.

* * *

><p>"The hard part is learning how to talk about these things," Reggie told him. Had told him a dozen times since the onset behaviors first began. "The biggest challenge to recovery won't be the impulses themselves, it will be the isolation you feel because of them. Being able to speak about it honestly is the first step in learning to live with them."<p>

Coming out of the madness had been like surfacing through deep water, layers of distortion falling away. There was no lifesaving breath at the end as the metaphor would seem to imply, however, and sometimes Javier still felt like he was drowning.

Reggie was Javier's post-vital counselor. They had spoken several times since the beginning, just after his fever ended. Reggie had done his best to warn him about what he'd had to look forward to. What he had been told had been utterly insufficient, but then Reggie had warned him about that too. While Javier sincerely doubted that the urges he still felt were something he'd ever honestly learn to "live with", Reggie was an okay guy. Javier just wished there was an alternative to his approach to impulse-management. Javier had always kind of sucked at the sharing thing.

"Your instincts aren't something you will ever be able to _defeat _entirely, but by training an understanding of them, you _will_ be able to bring them under your control. It's a struggle—"

Reggie cut off mid-sentence, looking toward the door. Listening, Javier heard the footsteps as well. He even recognized the tread. Despite that, seeing Kevin again still managed to catch Javier slightly off guard. He hesitated in the doorway, seeming uncertain, nervous. Given their last conversation, Javier found that understandable. Then again, it might have been Reggie Kevin was unsure of. While Kevin knew most of the doctors and nurses in the ward, Javier didn't think he and Reggie had actually met.

Silenced by his surprise at Kevin's sudden return, Javier watched the meeting with a layered feeling of nervousness he couldn't even hope to dissect. As they shook hands, he noticed Kevin's eyes dip briefly to the hand he was holding. Javier knew the double-take was on account of its coldness. In return, Reggie's eyes took in Kevin with a calculating wariness.

Reggie Simpson was a tall, lanky man with a sharp nose and a ridiculous bush of greying beard—Javier though he looked more than a little bit like Jim Henson. Physical aging was significantly slower in post-vital individuals, with evidence suggesting that in some cases it stopped completely. Reggie appeared to be in his late forties, but he was actually closer to twice that, having contracted IHN in 1964—only three years after the first outbreak, when the difficult questions about IHN were only beginning to be asked. Back then the term "post-vital" had yet to be developed to distinguish survivors from the dead, and even New York had regarded "_disposal of remains_" as the proper and humane course of action. It was one of the reasons Javier even bothered listening to Reggie. Despite his affable, easy personality and hippie throwback appearance, the man had an iron core to have survived what he had for as _long _he had.

His understandable defensiveness relaxed as Ryan offered his name, however, as though he'd heard it before. Knowing the nurses who staffed this ward, Javier wouldn't be surprised if he had. There was a slow blink as Kevin introduced himself as Javier's partner, after which Reggie's reception of him quickly warmed.

"Good for you." Reggie said slapping Kevin's shoulder gently, "That's good. Too many couples let IHN tear them apart."

Javier might have expected shock, but the desolate expression that crossed Kevin's face oh so briefly made no sense to him at all. It was covered up quickly, though, and he lost the chance to examine it further. A reply choked in Kevin's throat, finally forcing Javier to speak up.

"We worked together," he corrected, neutrally.

Kevin's shoulders shrunk slightly at the words. Reggie seemed to pick up on the odd atmosphere between them.

"I've got another patient to see," he told Javier, taking his jacket from the chair by the door. "I'll swing by later and see if there was anything else you needed to discuss."

Once Reggie had left, Javier had difficulty meeting Kevin's eye. A long period passed in which neither of them spoke. This time, it was Kevin who dragged up the courage to break the silence.

"I talked to Montgomery," he said without preamble. His tone was wary, forcing Javier to look up and confirm the nervousness in his eyes. "I know I should have talked to you first, but I guess if you're already talking about me in the past tense, maybe it's not as premature as I thought."

_That_ got Javier's attention, though he forced himself to run the statement over again in his head to make sure before he let himself reply.

"What did he say?" He asked, trying to keep the apprehension from his voice.

"He's getting the paperwork ready," Kevin answered, "Pending a clear eval, you're good for coming back."

Javier hadn't realized until that moment how worried he'd been about that. He'd spent the past two months unable to imagine his life could possibly be put back together into anything recognizable. But _maybe_... The hope he felt at the thought of returning to his job was so sharp it hurt.

"Look, I—" Javier's voice was trembling as he spoke up, and he stopped to get a grip on what he was feeling. "What I said to you—"

"Don't apologize." Kevin insisted. "It wasn't you. You didn't mean it."

Javier looked away. When he'd said it, he had meant every literal word. But Kevin wasn't wrong, either. It hadn't really been him. Not entirely.

"The wedding didn't happen," Kevin blurted out suddenly. Javier's eyes returned to his partner's face, finding a startled expression, as though Kevin hadn't meant to say it. "I—that is— Jenny and I broke up last month."

"Oh." Javier honestly didn't know what to say. "Sorry, bro, I didn't know."

"I know you didn't." Kevin said, "You had plenty on your plate without worrying about—"

He cut himself off and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," Kevin finished, sounding tired. "I'm fine. We just turned out to have a lot less in common than we thought."

Javier found himself remembering the argument—the one he now realized he'd never told Kevin he'd overheard. He felt a stab in his gut as his partner's reaction to Reggie's words suddenly made sense. He felt like an idiot, even though there was no way he could possibly have known.

Before he could find the words to take responsibility for that, Kevin spoke up again.

"So how much longer with the...?" He asked lightly, trailing off with a small gesture at the restraints on Javier's arms.

"Maybe another week, just 'til they're sure." He answered easily. The idea might have bothered him once, but now being so _close_ inspired an odd little flicker of pride. "They've been letting me out on supervised walks to let me get my strength back, though."

Javier saw his partner smile. It was a little wounded, but the hope he'd held in safe keeping for Javier still burned brightly.

"It's a start."

* * *

><p>Kevin's visits became regular again, after that. As often as he could, he arranged them to coincide with the times they let Javier leave his room. Sometimes they even had lunch together in the cafeteria. He found his partner's assurance that the food really <em>was<em> that terrible impossibly encouraging. From a few comments he overheard between his partner and a few of the nurses, Javier was beginning to believe Kevin's absence might have been intended for his benefit. Apparently, while Javier hadn't seen much of his partner after his outburst, Ryan had still kept close tabs on his progress, his persistence elevating him to a position of some notoriety among the IHN staff.

Now that he was on his way toward recovery, others had started coming by as well.

Beckett came by with some paperwork Montgomery had sent for him to review. Even without the necessary psychiatric evaluations he had to look forward to, he had still been out of work for nearly three months with a serious, debilitating illness. It would probably take months still to get him back there, so the sooner each step was achieved, the better. Since Ryan came by practically every day, though, Javier knew the paperwork was mostly an excuse. He and Kate were a lot alike in some ways. They both kept their emotions close to the vest, and hated to show weakness. It was something they each understood about the other, and Javier thought that understanding was probably the reason why she hadn't come by before now. He respected that. It hadn't been something he'd wanted anyone to see.

And he knew that _she_ knew that Ryan— Well his partner was different and always had been. Even in the thickest of hells, nothing Kevin had seen had ever made him feel weak.

Ike showed up a couple times. He and Carol had only told Tim that Javier was sick, and he was worried about his Uncle Javi. They hadn't known what else to tell him. Since he was due to be cleared of the restraints very soon, they made a date for all three of them to come by the next visit. Castle came by often. He knew from his partner's updates that Castle had asked nearly every day if he should visit. He owed Kevin so much already, but keeping the writer at bay until Javier was ready to handle him shot straight to the top of the list. Then again, he _had_ finally given Castle the green-light. Javier thought maybe the two canceled each other out.

His mother began visiting him again as well.

Javier knew he had Kevin to blame—_thank_—for that, too. Once he'd pulled through the worst of it, he'd been too afraid to call her himself. Their last conversation had felt too much like he was saying goodbye. And he was so different now from the last time she'd seen him. The man she'd left behind had still had a beating heart and red blood in his veins. That man had never imagined, or said, or wanted—_still wanted_—the things he had. With all of that on his conscience it was hard for Javier to feel like he was still her son. He had been terrified she wouldn't want him back.

He felt like an idiot for those doubts later, arms wrapped tight around her, not even a bit ashamed that he was crying. She had laid a warm kiss against the cold skin of his forehead, burning like a brand so he'd never forget.

And, of course, Kevin had told her about the food they served at the hospital, so she'd brought him onion soup and a sandwich like she used to do when he got sick as a kid. Javier was relieved to find that it tasted exactly the way he remembered it.

* * *

><p>After they did away with the restraints Javier was in the hospital for another two weeks before he finally got to leave.<p>

The evaluation process was harsh and thorough, and possibly the single most dehumanizing thing he'd experienced outside of the two months he had spent losing his mind. Eight sessions over those final two weeks, meant to test him for the "emotional and cognitive deficits" that were the signs of an incomplete recovery from onset. Which was a tidy clinical way of saying they needed to know if he'd survived his illness and the ordeal that followed, only to wind up a sociopath. The psychologist who handled him was a short, abrasive little woman. Dr. Waters had little patience, less tact, and no bedside manner to speak of, feeling the need to remind him multiple times that her job wasn't to coddle him and protect him from the world. It was to protect the world from _him_. After the third time she'd used words to that effect, Javier had managed not to rise to the bait. He had a feeling she was doing it on purpose, working out his limits through her toxic attitude in ways stupid questions about tortoises trapped on their backs would never reveal.

It didn't help his confidence that, often, his honest answers to her questions weren't what he thought they should be.

Waters' comments on the release paperwork claimed that Javier's reactions to sensitive stimuli were "within the norm for his stage of recovery" but that further work might be needed to curb "socially unacceptable deviance". Fortunately, his control and awareness of his impulses were deemed "well within the range to allow his safe release back into the public".

He found it bitterly ironic that reading the sentence that would ultimately set him free made him feel so much like a prisoner...

Apparently, Castle had wanted to throw some ridiculous party when he was released from the hospital. Javier was thankful—_more _than thankful—that Kate was able to talk him down.

A few friends at the Old Haunt was about as much as he could handle, just yet. It was one thing to be confident of his control when he was stuck in a room by himself, but having that kind of confidence out in the world was another thing entirely. Surrounded by family and close friends, all crowding together in a close press eager to welcome him back, for a crazy moment Javier almost missed the restraints. Not that he felt he was a danger to them—it was nothing that urgent. Just a tiny sliver of fear that he might say or do something to embarrass himself. He hated the thought of having those friends he still held onto think any less of him.

The extra assurance might have been comforting.

* * *

><p>Javier was out of the hospital for less than a week when he came home to find notice taped to the door of his apartment.<p>

"We've got kids living here," was the argument his super had leveled when Javier confronted him.

The sick frustration Javier felt at the man's implication was almost enough to boil over and push him into something ugly. Back when he was warm, Javier would probably have lost it and let the man know exactly what he thought of him. He couldn't afford that kind of explosion anymore—and any degree of _honesty_ regarding what he'd really have liked to do to the guy would only seem to prove him right. He had swallowed his rage quietly, though his fists were clenched so tight that they shook.

He had two weeks to find another place. That would be harder than it sounded, he knew. Technically, he wasn't required to disclose his post-vital status to prospective landlords. The unfortunate reality, however, was that most interviews would reveal the fact with a simple handshake. Combined with the blow to his savings when his insurance had only paid for half of his hospitalization, and Javier found his options were pretty limited.

Kevin caught him apartment hunting when he came over a few days later. Once he had managed to wheedle the story out of him, Kevin had needed to be stopped from searching out the super and flipping his shit on Javier's behalf.

After a week and a half of mutual effort—and complete failure to find anything within his means that was even remotely acceptable—Javier was getting ready to give up. God, but he didn't want to wind up in one of those depressing halfway-houses. He was getting so sick of being made to feel like a criminal.

Fortunately, that kind of a concession turned out not to be necessary.

When Kevin offered to let him stay at his place, Javier was a little reluctant. To start with, he hadn't wanted to cause any trouble for his partner. More than that, though, Javier had to question whether he could trust himself. Sharing close quarters with Kevin like that would be different than anything he'd had to deal with so far. He wasn't worried about the daytime—much—but he still had waking dreams sometimes. Not often, but they happened. Never during the day anymore, but at night during the hours that before his illness he would have spent sleeping, sometimes he would find himself locked in the grip of visions that weren't really happening. However, while during onset they had been a danger, now when they happened Javier usually knew them for what they were. And while he couldn't always interrupt them, he normally managed not to act on whatever he was seeing.

When it came down to it, though, Javier knew Kevin would be disappointed if he refused.

"Alright," he said, looking his partner in the eye. "But I'm keeping my couch."

His fears turned out mostly to have been unfounded.

Living—_cohabitating_—with Kevin had been strange getting used to, but it wasn't as difficult as he'd thought it might be. And oddly, it never seemed to be for the reasons he had expected. He'd noticed early on how sensitive his skin was to temperature now that he had almost no body heat of his own. Sometimes when he touched an object like a door handle, or a rail, he could still feel the ghost of heat left by whoever had touched it last. Staying with his partner he got that almost constantly, little echoes of Kevin's movements left all around the apartment. And sometimes, when Kevin went to bed leaving him to stay up alone, Javier found himself running his hand over the upholstery of the couch, feeling the lingering outline of his partner's warmth.

* * *

><p>Javier had been staying with Kevin for more than a week when he started hearing the chewing noises in the kitchen at night. There was a rat living under the stove. When he was in the kitchen sometimes he could even smell it. Between the insomnia caused by his illness and his worry about the upcoming evaluation to qualify him for reinstatement it was hard enough for him to sleep already. Hearing <em>that<em> all night definitely wasn't helping. He mentioned it to Kevin the next morning, and his partner promised to buy some traps.

It was past 3 am, two days later, when Javier woke up suddenly. He wasn't sure what had woken him at first. Then he heard the agonized squeaks coming in from the kitchen. Every muscle in his body locked up, and for a moment he was unable to move. He didn't want to go in there and see, he really didn't, knew he should stay _right_ where he was. And he tried. He _tried_, but putting the pillow over his head didn't help, and the thing was still making those _noises_...

Of course Kevin noticed the trap in the trash the next morning. The trap, but no rat.

"Next time get poison," Javier told him, pushing the scrambled eggs around on his plate. He couldn't bring himself to look his partner in the face.

Breakfast went into the trash too, a short time later. Javier really wasn't hungry.

It took Javier another two days to work up the courage to talk to Reggie about it. His hands trembled a little as he remembered licking the blood off his fingers, remembered warm flesh and the crunch of bone. The phrase "socially unacceptable deviance" had been running through his mind almost non-stop ever since it happened, and he was terrified what the man might have to say about it. What it might mean. Reggie listened sympathetically, though fortunately he hadn't seemed very concerned.

"A lot more post-vital people occasionally indulge in raw feeding—or even _live_ feeding—than like to admit." Reggie told him. "It's like drinking. It only becomes a problem if it starts damaging personal or professional relationships. If you think it poses a risk to impulse management, let me know, but otherwise I wouldn't worry about it."

A week later, Castle was finally given license to go all-out when they celebrated Javier's reinstatement to the NYPD.

Afterward, he and Kevin held a small celebration of their own. For dinner that night, Javier shelled out for steaks. He cooked one for Kevin, heating the other carefully in a bag submerged in a pot of hot water well below boiling. Kevin's eyebrows had lifted slightly as he took in the sight of the meat on Javier's plate, warm, red and bloody. Javier met the look of faint surprise in his partner's eyes with the uncertainty in his own. Moments slid past and Javier didn't breathe, not until his partner hitched a small shrug, digging in to his potatoes.

"So, next Monday, right?" Kevin asked, his easy smile dismissing the tension in Javier's stomach. "It's about damned time."

* * *

><p>Impulse-awareness was a crucial skill in post onset recovery. It was important to recognize the aberrant thoughts and desires so that they could be handled before they became a problem.<p>

Javier had been doing well. He'd been doing _really_ well. There were hard days, especially when he was stressed, but most of the time an entire week could go by where he didn't feel threatened by the instinct to tear into someone. He'd thought that being back at work could only make things better. In a way it did, because the _job_ wasn't really the problem. The problem was that now that he was spending his days at the station again, Kevin was by his side almost 24/7. At first he was terrified that he was regressing, troubled by the new wave of intrusive thoughts and images into his daily life. He was taught to be aware of his urges, however, and he knew that these were different. Not _normal_, but they lacked the violence he had become used to. Still, that knowledge wouldn't help him if he couldn't understand what the problem was.

And when Ryan rolled up his shirtsleeves one warm afternoon, it didn't stop the fantasies Javier had of pressing a bite into the skin, just hard enough to bruise.

It was another fantasy entirely that finally clued him in to the underlying issue, and when the realization was made Javier felt like he'd been hit by a bus. Because as twisted as it was, the impulse to sink his teeth into someone's flesh was something he'd been forced to live with, but the desire to _touch_—to press every part of his skin that he could to Kevin's and let himself drink in his partner's living warmth—that was foreign and new and as startling in it's own way as any other urge he'd ever felt.

Not as bad, not by a long shot, but _very_ unexpected.

Javier had been warned early on that only a small percentage of post-vital individuals still experienced sexual attraction—and that even then it was in a profoundly altered fashion. It had thrown him completely to realize that was what it was. Not only was it shocking to suddenly find himself feeling that about another man—about his _best friend_—it also felt very different than it had used to. None of the mechanisms functioned anymore that would have given him the usual signs. The feeling was there, the _want_, but no sudden sweats or flashes of heat.

He had no pulse to quicken.

And then there was the silence on other fronts which he'd found so distressing in the beginning. He had learned quickly enough that touching himself barely managed to get him half-hard. Even that had taken so much attention that after a few frustrating attempts he'd finally decided it wasn't even worth the effort. The ease with which he'd abandoned the idea of sex had bothered him more than the problem itself, but even that blow to his identity as a man had seemed such a small thing amid everything else he had been going through.

Now, his attraction to Kevin felt like a cruel joke being played on him. As if his body had determined to betray him once again by ruining one of the few good things from his old life that hadn't fallen apart.

Javier tried his best to ignore it. Unfortunately his best was pretty pathetic. Mostly he was just quiet and twitchy, and he knew it probably looked a whole lot like those first weeks of onset when he had constantly monitored his thoughts, hoping not to let anything show. And he knew _that_ was probably the reason for the faint glimmer of worry he always saw in his partner's eyes anymore. He knew Kevin would never ask. If he hadn't asked when Javier was in the hospital, he wouldn't ask now, but Kevin would still worry about him. He hated doing that to his partner, but he was at a complete loss for how else to handle things.

He could suffer in silence, he'd thought. He had certainly done plenty of it.

Of course he should have known it would never be that simple. For starters, the base problem still existed of he and Kevin being joined at the hip. It was difficult keeping his focus on the job with his partner dangled in front of him like an indifferently metaphorical piece of meat. People—people who weren't Ryan—were starting to notice. Mostly Castle and Beckett, but once he'd spaced out talking to Karpowski, and she'd had to snap her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. That really wasn't good. Zone outs like that made people nervous, and the last thing he needed was for anyone on the force to think he wasn't watching their back.

Or even worse, think they needed to watch their own backs around _him_.

* * *

><p>One night, he snapped out of one of his waking dreams and found himself standing over Kevin's bed.<p>

He couldn't remember the dream once it had faded, and thinking about what he might have been about to do scared him so badly he left the apartment, not even remembering to grab his coat on the way. He didn't stop until he reached the sidewalk below, and then only to shiver a little as the cold air robbed him of what little warmth he had. More comfortable once his temperature had dropped to match the early autumn night around him, Javier struck off blindly, with no particular destination in mind.

He had often done this in the weeks between his release and his return to work, usually while Ryan was at the station but other times to fill the hours of the nights when his brain stubbornly refused to switch off. The less he felt like sleeping, the less likely he was to wind up in a dream before he did, so those nights were usually safe. Tonight..._wasn't_, apparently. He knew it was a bad idea for him to be out on a night where his mind might wander places without him, but he also knew that if he'd stayed anywhere close to where his partner lay—sleeping and _helpless_—he would have driven himself crazy long before sunrise. And it hurt more than anything he could imagine to think it, but with his other impulses held in check the rest of the world was safe from him in a way that Kevin plainly wasn't.

Normally when Javier let himself be lead he eventually found himself on the subway. Whether that was something in his new instincts putting him where the prey was or else a desire to feel like part of the world again, Javier had never looked at it closely enough to know. Tonight, however, whatever part of his subconscious had chosen to steer him hadn't wanted the distraction of the subway as much as it had wanted guidance.

It was dark-thirty in the morning when Javier slid into an empty booth in the coffee shop down the street from Reggie's building, prepared to wait until morning. Not that Reggie wasn't probably still awake himself, but it was as good an excuse as any to put off that conversation just a little longer.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone about what was going on in his head right now, but it was becoming clear this wasn't something he could handle on his own. If there was even the remotest chance he might become a danger to his partner, he knew he had to swallow his embarrassment and his shame and man the fuck up. Still, even once he'd resolved to do it, drawing up the courage had taken some time.

It was past 4 am when he finally managed to call Reggie and tell him where he was. Once he ended that call, he sent a text to Kevin's phone. His partner would be waking up in another half an hour to start the coffee maker, and he was sure to notice Javier was missing from the couch. He told Kevin that he'd taken a walk, but he didn't mention Reggie. His partner knew how uneasy the older man sometimes made him, and that they rarely spoke unless he was having difficulties. Javier didn't want him to worry more than he already was.

Explaining _this_ situation to Reggie was infinitely more painful than it had been with the damned rat.

Javier kept his eyes on the table the entire time he spoke, or on his fingers curled around his coffee. He could imagine how fiercely his face would burn if his heart were still a functioning part of him. Despite the fact that he had been the way he was for almost six months, for a moment it suddenly seemed so impossible that he could actually be there, having a conversation with this man about the twisted lust he felt for his partner's body and flesh.

"Most IHN survivors who still feel attraction have reported experiencing attraction outside of their prior orientation," Reggie told him, carefully, as if he were afraid that was an issue here. It _was_, a little, but it was so far down on Javier's list right now... "Doctors are split on whether the changes in the brain alter orientation directly, or if our experiences just break us of some of our old boundaries, or if perhaps sexual desire is just too closely tied to the feeding impulse for gender to really matter—"

"Look," Javier interrupted, dragging his eyes up to meet Reggie's hoping to stall the man from carrying on his speech. He gave exactly two shits what the medical reasons were, though he thought the last rang distressingly true. "I don't care _why_ I feel like this. I just want to know how to _stop_."

Reggie heaved a sigh.

"Javier, you know things like this don't just _stop_," he said quietly, "There's no pause or rewind. We have to deal with them as they happen in real time. Why would this be any different?"

He knew it wasn't, not really. An impulse was an impulse, and there were only two ways to handle them. You either learned to resist or you removed the temptation. Only, in this case, Javier didn't think he could survive either one.

"Because it's Kevin." He'd finally managed, a little hoarsely. And that was really the answer to the question Reggie had asked, wishful and hopeless as it was. "He's my best friend and I owe him too much. He doesn't deserve this from me."

Reggie sat back in the booth, examining Javier with a silent frown. Javier shifted in his seat under the attention. The only thing worse than Reggie reciting from his mental pamphlets was Reggie when he was quiet. It usually meant he'd figured out something going on in your head even _you_ didn't know about.

"I know you care about him," Reggie said, softly, "He was there for you all the way through your recovery in a way very few people ever are."

"I'm not an expert, Javier, not with this. I've never felt what you're feeling—I haven't been involved with anyone since before you were even _born_—but this doesn't sound like lust to me. Or not just that." He looked Javier in the eye, making sure of his attention as he continued. "Pretend this was like any other desire you've been taught to deal with. Focus on it, let yourself understand it. And you don't have to tell me the answer, but I want you to be honest with yourself."

"Do you think it's possible that you're in love with him?"

* * *

><p>Javier barely remembered the trip back to the apartment.<p>

Kevin was already awake and dressed by the time he got there, and Javier's eyes were quick enough to catch him sliding the cell phone back into his pocket. He could see the worn concern in his partner's eye, and the question that hid behind it as Kevin took in the details. Javier was still wearing the clothes he'd worn yesterday, and he could imagine he probably looked pretty rough. A quick glance at the clock told him nothing good—he'd be late for work no matter what if he wanted to go in anywhere approaching presentable. He considered telling Kevin to go on ahead without him, but he knew from the look in his partner's eye he was better off not even making that offer.

They were subdued when they waltzed into the station, both of them more than fifteen minutes late. He knew Beckett took immediate notice. The worried look that flitted briefly between her and his partner made Javier wonder if he had done a worse job than he thought at managing his behavior. He hated doing it to himself, but for a terrified moment it crossed his mind that maybe they were looking for him to snap. Javier would have loved to ease their concerns, but he couldn't even begin to imagine what he should say. There was a time and a place for that conversation—that was, if the panic that threatened any time the thought surfaced allowed it to happen at all.

And despite his efforts to stay focused on the job, it was all Javier could think about.

Once asked, there had been no doubt in his mind about the answer to Reggie's question. It was a question he realized he had avoided asking himself. Because if what he was feeling were just another aberration forced on him by his condition, he could have tried to beat it, to put it out of mind the way he had to with everything else. But if it was more than some new indignity sprung on him by the disease, more than just lust, if it was something that was really _him_...

Even measured against the screwed up shit he'd been forced to deal with over the last half year that was still a difficult thing to face.

For all that he had been the one to open the floodgates, after the painful epiphany Reggie...really hadn't helped. His efforts to assure Javier that he was still deserving to give love, and to be loved had met with a withering glare that previously only Castle had ever brought out of him. Whether he believed it or not, he seriously wasn't in the mood for _that_ bullshit. Reggie's only other advice before they parted ways were to tell Kevin how he felt. Given the level of devotion his partner had shown during Javier's illness, he believed the worst that could possibly happen was that Kevin would want to stay friends.

In his heart—or what passed for it—Javier believed that was true, but there were still the nagging doubts. The what ifs. What if it made things awkward between them? What if it spoiled their friendship completely? If things went sour, would they still be able to work together? The situation held the frightening potential for him to lose nearly _everything_ he had left. On top of losing Kevin he could find himself without a home, without a job... And then there was the worst of those what ifs: the scenario where he and Kevin _could_ have had something deeper together, but never would be because the complications of his illness were just too much.

Haunted, Javier found himself sleepwalking through most of the day.

Their drive home was as silent as their trip to work that morning, the air in the car thick with questions unasked, answers not offered. Every now and then Javier would feel his partner's eyes watching him, though he never looked back to catch him out. That silence followed them home into the apartment, and though they were often in the same room it felt like they were miles apart. Javier thought they were like two fragile things, packed in cotton out of the fear of one breaking the other. They'd wordlessly raided a dinner of leftovers, watching the news with what each knew was feeble interest at best.

It was Kevin who finally broke that painful tension, speaking softly.

"Think I'll turn in early."

There wasn't any one point at which Javier _decided_ to act, he just couldn't let those be the only words spoken that night.

The move was practically involuntary. As Kevin walked past him, Javier reached out and grabbed his arm—tightly, stopping him in his tracks. Both of them stood frozen, watching the other carefully. Kevin didn't seem startled, though the expression in his eyes was so wary that it hurt. Aware of the squeeze he still held on his partner's upper arm, Javier loosened his grip a little. He could feel the heat of the other man's skin burning against his palm through the fabric of his sleeve. When, after a few breaths, Kevin didn't pull away from his grasp, Javier let his hand slide down, encircling his partner's wrist gently. His fingertips pressed against Kevin's pulse, and Javier's eyes fluttered closed briefly at the strange-familiar sensation. God, but it seemed so long since he had felt that...

Javier noticed the pace of Kevin's heart speed up beneath his fingers, and hoped—frantically, desperately _hoped_—that it wasn't from fear.

"Look, I don't—" He began roughly, bringing his eyes back up to Kevin's face as he sought out the words he needed. "I know it's kind of...messed up, and you probably don't feel—"

Javier had been watching his partner's eyes closely, so he saw the moment the apprehensive spark there turned into something else. Something Javier didn't have time to interpret before Kevin's hand twisted out of his, reaching up around the back of his neck and bringing their lips together in a rough kiss.

The heat of his partner's mouth was almost shocking, and the tongue that slipped in after felt like a flame. A deep noise shook his chest that he didn't even have a name for as he pressed in, a quick nip tugging at Kevin's lower lip. Kevin sucked in a gasp, and then it was Javier's turn to invade his mouth, tongue sliding along the inside of his lip and finding the hot, thin thread of his pulse squirming there as well. Meanwhile, his hands had found their way to his partner's hips, pulling him close until their bodies were almost flush, the thin layers of their clothing all that separated him from the furnace of Kevin's warmth. The kiss dragged on with a fierce, desperate momentum that probably could have gone on for hours.

As it was, the only thing that stopped them was Kevin's need for air.

"I was so afraid I was losing you again," Kevin whispered softly when they finally pulled back, face hiding in the crook of Javier's shoulder. His hands clutched tightly at Javier's back, as though still worried he might disappear. "Is this— This is it, right? This is why you've been acting so screwy these past few weeks. _Please_ say it's this."

"It's this." Javier managed quietly, sounding breathless himself, though he was honestly just stunned.

"Idiot." The word was almost a laugh, though there was a faint anger in it. "You idiot... Jesus, Javi...I've been kind of hopeless over you since we first started working together."

Javier had never realized.

With that knowledge, the effort his partner had put into holding the shattered pieces of his life together might have made slightly more sense. Or, still, perhaps that was just who Kevin was. Javier didn't know, and he didn't have words just then to address it, so he just pressed his face into his partner's hair, letting himself drink in the scents that he'd spent so long not letting himself notice. His flesh and blood smelled almost sweet, though there was another, exciting element slowly creeping in beneath it. It pulled Javier in helplessly. Dropping his head he ran his tongue over the skin of Kevin's throat, tasting salt and the chemical tang of his cologne, and finding his pulse point mouthed it gently.

His hands were shaking where they clutched at Kevin's waist as he wrestled with a savage need he barely understood—not hunger or lust, but something that fell frighteningly in between.

His partner seemed unaware of the tension stringing its way through his body, and when Kevin's questing hand palmed him through his slacks Javier barely managed not to flinch. His motions slowed and he drew back to look Javier in the eye, and for for a moment, he thought maybe Kevin had noticed. But as the touch lingered, Javier realized it was something else entirely that had stopped him.

"Can you—"

The gaze wavered a little but didn't fall away as his partner swallowed the question, faint uncertainty creasing his forehead. Kevin never asked those kinds of questions, he hadn't from the beginning. That he almost had...wasn't something Javier was going to let himself think about.

"I don't know." Javier admitted, sounding strangely calm despite the panicked voice in the back of his head screaming that this was where it all fell apart. "I don't even know what I'm doing. I've never..."

He trailed off, embarrassed at how his brain jumped skittishly past the idea like a freaking virgin.

"I've never...with a guy." He finished lamely.

Nothing should ever be so absurdly reassuring as the tender smile his partner flashed just then.

"Okay," Kevin whispered, lifting his hand to slide it under Javier's shirt, so warm as it caressed the cool flesh of his stomach that it drew a faint hiss. "We'll find out. Just...tell me what you need."

With an invitation like that, Javier found his shyness slipping away abruptly. Suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted. He might not know what he could do, but he was fairly sure he knew what _Kevin_ could do, and if he needed a way to keep him, then maybe...

"Fuck me." Javier was surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. _So much for impulse-awareness_. "I want you to fuck me."

From the way Kevin stood gaping at him, those words—or the low, grinding rasp of the voice that spoke them—surprised him as well.

"Are you sure?"

Thinking about the warmth of Kevin's hands, his lips, his _mouth_, Javier was more than sure. Just the idea of having that kind of heat inside him—his legs felt a little like jelly. His voice escaped him at first, but he managed a soft "mhm" that would have been a whimper if not for the coarse whisper of a growl carried underneath.

"I'm sure."

Kevin stared at him for the space of a few more seconds, his eyes lust-dark and dazed, before pushing him toward the bedroom.

Their mouths found each other again as they stripped one another's shirts, Javier carefully pacing his control of himself through the deliberate task of undoing one button after the other. Still, the sight of Kevin's bare skin once he found it almost unraveled him. The only thing that saved him was that he wasn't sure where to start first, whether he wanted to feel the pale ridge of Kevin's collarbone between his teeth or bite a dark bruise into the vulnerable skin of his naked belly.

If, on their next kiss, Kevin noticed the saliva filling Javier's mouth he said nothing.

"Have _you_ ever—" Javier asked to cover his hesitation, but found he couldn't quite complete the question.

"I— Yeah." Kevin answered, understanding him nonetheless. "It's...been a while."

The blush that brightened his already flushed face was absolutely gorgeous. Javier leaned forward, nuzzling the heated flesh of his partner's cheek, letting the warmth ground him against the frantic, dangerous, confusing feeling beating itself bloody inside of him. Warm fingers worked at the opening of his slacks and Javier fell sitting as his legs were backed up against the edge of Kevin's bed.

In light of revealed feelings, there was the temptation to wonder whether his partner pursued the ghost of who he used to be, but no one knew him better than Kevin. That had been true for a long time, but since his recovery it was even more so. Living together, his partner was privy to many of the ways he'd changed as well as the ways in which he was still the same. Eye-level with it now, he could see how badly his partner wanted him, but it was the look in his eyes that finally made Javier believe it.

Believe that Kevin really _could_ want himas he was now: cold flesh and deviant hunger.

Kevin tugged the pants off him slowly and Javier threw an arm around his shoulders to keep from tilting backward. The contact of his arm against the warm skin of Kevin's back was vibrant, electric, delicious. It seemed truly shameful for him to be this naked when Kevin wasn't, and Javier drew him closer, reaching for the buckle of his partner's belt as he brought their mouths together for another burning kiss.

He was occupied with learning Kevin's taste—careful, gentle bites down the side of his partner's neck, barely letting himself tug at the skin—when he felt the light warmth of fingers brush his cock. The flesh under his partner's hand was unresponsive, but the heat and the friction still felt good, and Javier's hips pushed forward into his touch. Face pressed tightly against his partner's throat, suddenly the impulse to dig his teeth into the warm flesh in front of him was almost overwhelming. Javier stilled.

"Wait," he ground out, his voice rough and broken sounding as he shoved his partner away.

Kevin stared back at him, looking confused, concerned and more than a little hurt. There was a defensiveness to that hurt, as though part of him wanted to bolt—not to escape _him_, Javier thought, but whatever had caused him to push Kevin away. Given the fragility of his control right now, Javier almost wished he'd try.

"Do you—" He struggled for coherency, fighting both the fierce want coiled up inside him and the shame he felt for what he was asking. For _needing_ to ask. "Do you have your cuffs?"

Kevin's hurt expression turned soft and a little shocked—his partner hurting for him now rather than himself.

"Javi..."

Javier looked away. He didn't think he could afford to listen to any assurance or argument his partner might make, and he knew if he looked Kevin in the eye he might change his mind.

"Please?" He asked. "I don't know what this is going to be like, and if I— I don't want to—"

There was no way of completing the thought that wouldn't destroy him completely.

Javier flinched slightly as the feel of warm fingers on his jaw pulled him back from the brink of his thoughts. Kevin turned his face back toward him and kissed him softly, long and warm, before drawing back to look him in the eye, running a thumb over Javier's lips.

"Okay," Kevin said softly.

Javier didn't breath or move the entire time Kevin was gone to get them.

There was a sudden and intense rush of relief when the cuffs snapped shut around his wrists, anchoring him half-sitting to the head of Kevin's bed. Relief he couldn't help but feel guilty for. After spending more than two months tied down in a hospital bed he felt this was the last thing he should have wanted. But the fact was that he felt safe in a way he hadn't for months. _Safe_, because right now he wasn't a threat to anyone.

Though he was no longer helpless against his instincts as he had been in the beginning, every moment of every day was spent on guard against them. If not for the immediate safety of others then for the need to conform, to avoid people's second glances and their speculation. Even on the days when that was easy, there was always the quiet doubt about what tomorrow would bring. Javier hadn't fully realized how much pressure the need for that kind of control put him under. Now, he had effectively handed that responsibility over to Kevin, and the momentary release from it left him blinking back tears.

Ironically, at that moment it was Kevin who seemed the more vulnerable, scared and more than a little helpless. Javier knew that being asked to restrain him like this hurt Kevin just a little. He felt like apologizing, but at the same time he felt like thanking him so in the end he said nothing. Instead he looked Kevin in the eye, wanting him to understand that this was okay. He had put himself in his partner's hands, but he did that every day, and Javier trusted Kevin.

He trusted Kevin more than he trusted himself.

Whatever he saw in Javier's eyes must have been what he needed to see, because that injured look slowly bled away. Kevin leaned in, capturing Javier's mouth fiercely before he moved lower, trailing warm, light touches and wet, hot kisses across the cold plane of his chest. Freed of the need to restrain himself Javier was able to narrow his focus, aware of every point where Kevin's body touched his own.

And when the first finger, slick and warm, pressed into him carefully, his partner had his complete and undivided attention.

Javier hadn't known what to expect, but the slide was something else, and when Kevin repeated the motion the noise he made was low and dirty. It was a strange feeling, but so was waking up to a dead heart, and that had been far less pleasant. Javier found himself wishing he could have done this when he was still warm, just once so that he had something to compare it to. Then the finger was joined by a second, and Kevin did this _something—_something that sent lightning shooting up his spine.

The next time their mouths met there were far too many teeth involved to call it a kiss, and when Kevin leaned out of his reach Javier felt his fingers curl with the strong desire to drag him back. His jaws opened reflexively, aching to taste copper.

The heat and attention of the fingers working him open had been intense, but they left him utterly unprepared for what followed. As Kevin slid inside Javier breathed a noise—odd, soft and stuttering, somewhere between a sigh and a death rattle. He could feel his partner's pulse dance inside him, strong and unbelievably rapid, burning with the impossible high heat of his blood. Mind and body stalled as he processed the sensation; unexpected, bizarre, and excruciatingly intimate.

"You good?"

Javier hadn't realized his eyes were closed until he heard Kevin's voice. The meaning of the words barely reached him, but it was a ridiculous question anyway. He opened his eyes to find his partner staring down at him. His partner, usually so neat, now with his face all flushed and damp with perspiration, hair coming slightly askew. Kevin looked positively edible in a way that was, for once, completely innocent. Javier couldn't speak. Couldn't be bothered to _breathe_, he just nodded.

And then, with a smile so lewd Javier never would have suspected him capable, Kevin started to move.

The response of his body as Kevin thrust into him was enthusiastic, almost alarmingly so. Raw heat contacted some molten thing inside him and he jerked, the metal edge of the cuffs biting the skin of his wrist. Javier could feel the clear serum that filled his veins beginning to well, thin and sluggish down the length of his forearm. Strangely even that small, sharp sting of pain felt good to him.

Things built, sharpening to an intensity that was nearly unpleasant before it fell. Instead of passing, however, the feeling unexpectedly began to rise again. There was a pleasant flash of warmth that might have been Kevin finishing inside him, but Javier was too locked within his own experience to know for sure. That odd wave of spiking sensation hit twice more, and it felt like he was being shaken apart. Things turned muddy, distant and unreal. It wasn't until he felt skin part under his teeth that whatever was keeping him trapped in that overwhelming loop finally broke.

Breathing was an effort abandoned long before and without air in his lungs he came silently, shaking.

Awareness drifted back to him in pieces. There was a click as the cuffs were undone, Kevin's hand on his face as his partner pressed a loose kiss against his mouth. His fingers were numb and prickling where the sensation was coming back into them, a detail that made immediate sense, though the presence of that same feeling in his feet confused things a little.

Kevin was sprawled out bonelessly across his chest. Above his deltoid, where neck met shoulder, a small bite had broken the skin. His senses were still scattered, and despite the guilt the damage inspired Javier couldn't stop himself from lapping gently at the blood which seeped there. Kevin turned his head, looking at him, but his only response was a soft, sleepy smile.

Javier remained still beneath his partner as Kevin's breathing evened out into sleep. He wouldn't manage to follow for a few hours yet, but he was content to lie their anyway. He closed his eyes, shutting out everything but the lulling rhythm of Kevin's heart beating slow and strong against his sternum.

For the first time in half a year, Javier felt like he was alive.

**_Ende_  
><strong>


End file.
